The Season of Giving (and Shopping So much shopping)
by braille upon my skin
Summary: "They're his family, faults, and eccentricities, and "quirks" and all". Troy and Ryan take their kids Christmas shopping and join up with the Evans-Leveretts for some family bonding and other sorts of thrills.


_**The Season of Giving (and Shopping. So much shopping.)**_

 _/_

Troy Bolton blinks his eyes open. His vision is still blurred, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. He moves to pull himself upright, and a sharp pain shoots up the length of his knee.

Fuck. He forgot.

As he suppresses an outcry, there's a swift movement near the foot of the bed.

"Hey, hey." It's Ryan, his husband. Ryan's light voice adopts a low, soothing intonation. "Easy." He holds Troy's leg steady with gentle hands, allowing the brunet to shift into an upright position. "What's up?" Ryan asks. "Do you need something?"

"No, I'm just…" Troy trails off. He let his condition slip his mind, something that happens from time to time. He'll dream he has the range of motion he did before the injury, and…

Ryan watches him carefully, blue eyes darkened with solicitude. "I understand," he says softly. He always does. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It's just about lunchtime, and we have some Christmas shopping lined up for today."

"Right." Troy runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and returns the smile. Christmas shopping. Time with the family. That's what he needs- a reminder that his reality is better than any fantasy his brain can dream up.

"You ready?" Ryan asks. His hand moves from resting on Troy's leg, to being offered to him.

"Yeah." Troy takes hold of the proffered limb and squeezes it tightly as he works with Ryan to lift himself off of the bed. Once he's on his feet, his right knee pulsates, aching dully, but his legs are otherwise stable.

Ryan's gaze just noticeably flicks to Troy's legs before flicking back to focus on his face. He gives Troy's hand a soft squeeze, and Troy feels the warmth of reassurance spread through his body. "Come on," Ryan says, hands clapping back down to his sides. "I'll make you whatever you like."

/

At the dining room table sit their children, Josh and Freya. Freya is feeding the remnants of what looks to be a turkey sandwich to the dogs, Benji, a Golden Retriever, and Emelie, a Yorkie and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel mix.

"Freya, honey," Ryan chides her with the same lenience he used on Troy. "We don't feed the dogs people food."

"But they like it." Freya giggles as Benji's long tongue rasps over her fingers, no doubt, looking for crumbs.

"Hey, kiddo," Troy greets Josh, ruffling the boy's mop of dark brown hair.

"Morning, dad," Josh replies. His sandwich smells of pepperoni and cheese. It appears that he's barely touched it, however, as his eyes are glued to the Pokemon game he's playing on Ryan's Ipad.

"Good morning, daddy." Freya beams.

"And, how's my little troublemaker doing?" Troy inquires.

Freya bites back a laugh.

"I see you can't be left alone for five minutes." Troy sinks into the chair next to his daughter and snatches the crust of the remaining half of sandwich off of her plate. "The moment your dad and I turn our backs, you're getting into trouble."

"You just woke up!" Freya argues, her laughter breaking through despite her best attempts to hold it back.

Troy's pokerface slips, as well, allowing a smile to sneak its way onto his face. "That doesn't mean I can't see the trouble you get into when I'm sleeping."

"Daa-aaaddy." Freya shakes her head, her short, dark hair brushing against her cheeks.

Troy pulls her in close and ruffles her hair, grinning as her giggles peal out through the apartment. He can hear the smile in Ryan's voice as Ryan asks, "Babe, do you want a sandwich?"

"Yeah."

"Turkey?"

"Turkey's fine." Troy smiles softly. He hasn't eaten in fourteen hours. His stomach would probably accept anything he shoveled into it, but a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich is definitely more palatable.

"Your daddy's right, you know," Ryan says as he removes two slices of Italian bread from the bread box. "We have ways of knowing what you and Josh are up to at all times."

 _This_ seems to get Josh's attention. He jolts slightly in his seat, removing his eyes from the screen long enough to stare up at Ryan in mild alarm, and meet his younger sister's look of confusion.

Troy suppresses a chuckle.

Ryan sets the bread slices on a plate on the counter and crosses over to smooth Freya's rumpled hair and collect her plate.

Troy hands him the piece of crust, which he takes with a smile.

"That's why you should always be on your best behavior," Ryan finishes, his light-hearted tone making it clear that he's mostly kidding.

The sigh of relief Josh and Freya expel is almost tangible.

On his way back over to the counter, Ryan pauses at Josh and crouches down in front of him to put himself at eye level with the boy. "Please eat, Josh. We've got a long day ahead of us. You don't want to be walking around the mall all day with an empty tummy, do you?"

"No." Letting out a sigh, Josh turns the Ipad off and grabs his sandwich.

Ryan smiles. "Attaboy." He gives Josh a light squeeze on the shoulder and returns to the counter to make his and Troy's sandwiches.

Ten minutes later, Ryan is helping Freya button her coat, and Troy is pulling Josh's hood over his head.

"Do we have everything?" Ryan asks, casting a quick look around the front room of the apartment. "Wallets, gloves…" He rummages through his pockets and pats down Josh and Freya's to make certain a pair of gloves is tucked safely away, just in case. "Keys? Troy?" He shoots Troy a questioning look.

"Got 'em," Troy assures him, pulling the keys out of the right pocket of his jeans and showing them off for good measure.

"Great." A hint of a relieved smile tugs at Ryan's mouth. "The dogs have been taken out. No one has to use the bathroom, or anything?"

Josh and Freya firmly shake their heads.

"Everything's fine, Ry," Troy says. "We're all ready to go."

"Right." Some of Ryan's nervous tension immediately eases and his posture relaxes. "Okay."

Troy opens the door for Josh and Freya, and catches Ryan's eye after locking it behind them. They adore their kids, but parenting can feel a lot like walking a tightrope. It's a struggle to find the right balance between being overbearing, and far too lenient, as they make certain to not repeat the mistakes made by either of their own parents.

Troy always hopes that he's doing the right thing, and won't cause Josh and Freya to hate him.

In Ryan's case, he's terrified of becoming a neglectful, absentee parent, like his mother and father were for the majority of his and his sister's childhood.

"Hey." Troy pulls Ryan into him and rubs his shoulder, hoping to calm him down and supply him with confidence. And, maybe that confidence will manage to rub off on Troy, himself, as well. "Relax, Ry." He touches his nose to the shorter man's temple and assures him in a low, soothing voice, "Everything will be fine. We've got this."

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs.

"Okay?" Troy squeezes Ryan's shoulder.

"Okay," Ryan echoes, his new wave of confidence audible.

Troy smiles, brushing his lips against the shell of Ryan's ear. "Let's take our kids Christmas shopping."

/

Delighted squeals peal out through the first floor of the mall, louder than the rendition of "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" playing over the loud speakers. Freya takes off like a rocket toward Lana Leverett as the tiny blonde girl remains at her mother's side, bouncing up and down with excitement.

Josh, Ryan, and Troy follow at a slower pace.

Troy greets Peyton Leverett, Lana's father, by shaking his hand and pulling him into a back-patting embrace. "It's good to see you, man."

"You, too. It's been a while." Peyton grins. As if the thought just occurred to him, his expression shifts. "How's your leg?"

Troy can hear Lana and Freya chattering away about Barbies and looking at clothes. Lana is determined to get something "fabulous", to add to her wardrobe. Troy catches Ryan's eye as the familiar catchphrase meets his ears, and Ryan shakes his head affectionately.

Like mother, like daughter.

"It's doing okay. I should be fine," Troy assures the tall blond.

Peyton nods. "As long as you're sure."

Beside Peyton, Sharpay Evans, his wife and Lana's mother, kneels down to sweep Freya into a hug. "There's my favorite niece!" She coos.

Freya returns the hug, a big smile on her face.

"Where's your brother?" Sharpay asks.

"Right there." Freya points to Josh, who lingers at Ryan's side, hands tucked in his pockets.

Sharpay steps back from Freya to look at her nephew. "Josh, don't you want to come give your aunt a hug?"

Josh shakes his head.

"It's okay," Ryan says softly, touching Josh's shoulder. He raises his head to address Sharpay. "He's shy, Sis. Don't take it personally."

Despite his words, Sharpay's lower lip protrudes in a slight pout. Troy recalls her doing a lot of pouting and sulking in high school, and reasons that she never quite grew out of it.

"My mom gives the _best_ hugs in the _whole world_ ," Lana declares, emphasizing her point with a firm nod.

Josh scuffs his feet against the floor.

"Anyway…" Ryan, ever the peacekeeper, steps in and embraces Sharpay, only to to recoil at something he sees over his sister's shoulder. "Shar?" He whispers. "What's Alexandra doing here?"

Troy peers over to see a petite brunette woman standing just behind Sharpay, eyes glued to the screen of her cellphone.

"I asked her to catalogue everything Lana wants for Christmas," Sharpay states matter-of-factly.

Ryan nods to the petite brunette woman, who glances up from her phone just long enough to return the nod, then resumes whatever task she's currently engrossed with. "I thought this was supposed to be a _family_ outing."

Troy can hear the irritation creeping into Ryan's otherwise pleasant tone. His senses now on high alert, he watches the Evans twins carefully, waiting for a sign that he should intervene.

Sharpay flicks her wrist dismissively. "Oh, just ignore her. It'll be like she isn't even here."

Ryan casts a glance at his niece, who stares intently at her mother with wide, reverent blue eyes. In Lana's world, Sharpay can do no wrong, and Troy knows that is exactly what Ryan is afraid of.

Troy turns to Peyton. "Did you try to talk Sharpay out of bringing her personal assistant?"

"I did," Peyton replies, looking resigned. "But, you know how it is with her."

Only all too well.

Ryan finally lets out a sigh, hands falling to his sides in similar resignation. "It's fine. Whatever."

Sharpay beams. "Fabulous." She reaches for Lana's hand, and the tiny blonde girl latches on, taking Freya with her. "Let's get moving. We have a lot of mall to explore."

As Peyton strides over to join Sharpay, Troy swoops in and wraps one arm around Ryan, and uses the other to guide Josh forward. "You did your best, babe," he murmurs to his husband, rubbing at the small of his back. "That's all anyone could ask for."

"I suppose so." Ryan looks at Lana, who is happily chattering away with Freya, once more.

Freya eyeballs the brunette woman warily, but Lana seems completely accustomed to having her mother's personal assistant joining the family on shopping trips. To her, there is nothing abnormal about this stranger walking alongside her, her mother, and father. In fact, Alexandra probably isn't a stranger to Lana, at all.

Josh and Freya have never met Ryan's publicist. They have no idea what a public relations person, or a social media advisor does. All they know is that their dad dances, acts, and sings, and his picture shows up in magazines, online, and on TV, sometimes.

Troy can tell that Ryan is completely unconvinced by his reassurance, and although he wishes it wasn't the case, he can understand why.

/

About an hour and a half into their shopping expedition, Sharpay decides to make a "quick stop" at Victoria's Secret, leaving Peyton and Troy saddled with the task of watching the kids.

Ryan offers to stay behind and help them out, but Sharpay drags him along behind her, leaving him unable to do anything but offer Troy a helpless glance over his shoulder.

"I need caffeine," Peyton groans, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Wiped out already?" Troy watches the kids out of the corner of his eye. He can hear Lana telling a story about her, her mommy, and her daddy getting stuck in traffic.

"I barely slept a wink. Lana crawled into bed with me and Sharpay, and her feet were digging into my back all night."

Troy shoots him a sympathetic wince. Lana is notorious for climbing into bed with her parents every time she has a nightmare. Troy would love the chance to sit her down and ask her what her nightmares are about, but she claims they're "too scary" to discuss.

As if taking an unseen cue, Lana stands up and enthusiastically declares, "And, daddy looked out the window and said, 'learn how to drive, asshole'!"

Troy's mouth comes open in surprise and he just barely muffles his laughter as Peyton hauls himself out of his seat in the food court and rushes over to his daughter.

"Lana, honey," Peyton chastises, grabbing the girl's arm. "You can't repeat everything daddy says."

Lana blinks curiously, as if unsure why she's being reprimanded. "But, that's what you said. You called the man an- "

"Who wants treats?" Peyton swiftly intercepts his daughter, cutting her off.

"I'd like a treat, please!" Freya pipes up.

"Me, too," Josh adds, finally looking engaged in the people around him for the first time, that day.

"Don't forget about me." Lana's lower lip protrudes in a slight pout that is eerily reminiscent of her mother's.

Troy leaps out of his seat. "You buy yourself a coffee, man. I'll take care of the kids."

"Are you sure?" Peyton asks as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket.

"Yeah, it's no big deal." Troy reasons that Josh and Freya must have worked up an appetite from all of that walking around, and he's a bit worried about Ryan. Ryan always eats less around the holidays to maintain his svelte figure, and he's felt skinnier than usual, recently. Troy is determined to buy Ryan something he won't be able to refuse.

"Alright." Peyton's nod is hesitant. He turns to his daughter, hunching down to put himself at eye level with her. "You behave for Uncle Troy. Don't give him a hard time, okay?"

"I won't," Lana insists.

"I'll be right back. This should only take me five minutes, tops." Peyton assures them. He takes off for the Starbucks stand, and with his long strides, he's out of sight in seconds.

Troy rounds the kids up and escorts them to the nearest food stand. He feels pangs of hunger deep within his stomach as the smell of freshly made pizza hits his nose. "How does pizza sound, guys?"

"I love pizza!" Freya exclaims.

"Pizza's okay," Josh murmurs.

"What about you, Lana?" Troy turns to the tiny blonde girl.

Lana's brows furrow. "My mommy says it's greasy, and high in fat content."

Troy makes sure she doesn't see him rolling his eyes. "I'm sure your mommy misses out on a lot of really great food, with that attitude," he says, keeping his tone light, pleasant, and devoid of snark. He approaches the counter and orders a small pizza and four drinks.

He doesn't miss the cashier eyeing the way the material of his shirt stretches snug across his arms and chest, and tries to tell himself that taking a minute to _slowly_ pull the money from his wallet, _slowly_ grab the drink-carrier and hand it off to Josh, and _slowly_ take hold of the pizza box, flaunting his wedding ring, in the process, is a subconscious action, and totally not completely intentional.

By the time Peyton has returned, the kids have eaten halfway through their slices. Lana, as it turns out, is actually quite the pizza fan.

"Sorry it took so long," Peyton huffs out, dropping into the seat opposite Troy. "There's always a line for Starbucks."

"Not at all. It's fine," Troy says. He takes a long sip from his bottled water.

Peyton looks to Lana, his blue eyes, one of the few traits he and his daughter have in common, widening. "You got her to eat _pizza_?"

Troy shrugs. "What kid doesn't like pizza?"

Peyton shakes his head, still incredulous. He lifts the flap on the lid of his cup and takes a swig of coffee. "Sharpay is on this weird diet," he extrapolates after swallowing his mouthful. "She's never liked hot dogs, but now she won't eat anything that's even _remotely_ greasy. She thinks it will make her break out, or something." He gives the cup a light shake in an attempt to further mix its contents. "I told her stressing over what she eats will do more damage to her skin than anything else. She threatened to put me on the couch."

Troy might feel sorry for Peyton, if he didn't know that the blond savors every second of being married to Sharpay, including enduring her… "quirks". "Isn't that basically foreplay for the two of you, though?"

A grin breaks out on Peyton's face, and he reaches out to give Troy a light punch on the shoulder. "Alright, you cheeky bastard. Not in front of the kids."

Troy simply smirks, his eyebrows twitching with amusement.

"We're here!" Ryan's voice announces.

Troy turns in the direction of the call to find his husband bogged down by bags, and hurries to his side to alleviate him. He grabs more than half of the load and guides the petite blond toward the chair he previously occupied. Once he's set all of the bags on the table, he hands Ryan the bottle of water.

Ryan gives him a soft smile, his eyes glowing faintly with gratitude.

Troy catches the pout returning to Sharpay's face as she joins them. "You didn't get me a coffee?" She asks, her voice heightened to a girlish pitch.

Peyton looks from his wife, to Troy, to his cup of coffee, and lets out a hefty sigh. "I'll be back."

Sharpay holds out a hand to stop him as he rises out of his chair. "I'd better go with you. You always seem to mess up my coffee order."

"How am I supposed to remember all of that?"

Troy can still hear their amicable bickering as they make their way back to the Starbucks stand.

"You got Lana to eat pizza, I see," Ryan observes. He takes a drink of water and goes on, "My sister might not appreciate such a gesture, but I, for one, am proud of you for expanding my niece's palate beyond three figure gourmet items."

"No problem." Troy grins and touches his nose to a beaming Ryan's, letting his hand run along the blond's backside as he moves to pull up a chair beside him. " _Someone_ has to make sure you rich kids are treated to the simple pleasures in life… like a fresh slice of mall food court pizza."

Ryan's eyes glow enticingly, invitingly, and Troy almost lets himself forget where he is, until Lana's voice pipes up, "My mommy and daddy don't do that."

"Do what, honey?" Ryan flashes Troy a look of mild confusion as he turns to his niece.

Troy feels blush coloring his cheeks and chastises himself. He's an _adult_. A _married man with kids_. He's _old_ , darn it. He shouldn't be so easily embarrassed.

"Touch noses."

"Everyone has different ways of showing affection, Lana," Troy manages to contribute.

"Well, it reminds me of Boi and his girlfriend," Lana says decisively, an air of almost haughtiness about her.

The concept of Sharpay's tiny Yorkie having a "girlfriend" still strikes Ryan as ridiculous- "They're dogs. They sniff each other's butts, mate, and then couldn't care less if they never see each other again"- but Troy thinks it's sort of cute, in the "telling your kid that a fairy will visit them in the middle of the night to collect their baby teeth and leave money under their pillow", way.

"Dad says that daddy has 'the most persuasive pair of puppy-dog eyes of anyone he's ever known'," Freya chimes in, parroting Ryan's precise tone down to a T without stumbling over any of the more complex words. Impressive for a four year-old.

Lana seems mildly intrigued by this notion, and Troy's blushing intensifies. He almost feels bad for laughing at Peyton's plight, ten or so minutes ago.

Lana is rising in her seat, preparing to climb onto the table and check for herself if Troy really does have "puppy-dog eyes", when Ryan cuts her to the chase.

"Ooh-kay." He hurries over to Lana's side of the table and neatly sets her back down in her seat. "That, Lana, dear," he bends over to put himself at eye level with the girl, "is what we call a figure of speech. Which means there are no actual puppy-dogs involved. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Lana's lips form an "o" of realization, then protrude in a distinctly disappointed pout as she sinks into the chair and crosses her arms over her chest.

A few seats away from her, Josh looks equally sullen as he picks at the crust of his pizza.

"What's wrong, honey?" Ryan asks the boy as he rejoins Troy.

"Are we gonna be here much longer?"

Troy exchanges a look with Ryan, turns to the mountain of parcels they've already acquired over the course of their trip, and declares, "It can't be too much longer. You'll be back home, sitting on the couch in the apartment and playing Pokemon, before you know it."

Josh perks up at this prospect.

"Provided my sister doesn't feel a need to purchase _and model_ nine virtually identical pairs of lingerie in different colors. Again," Ryan mutters low enough that the kids can't pick up on it.

Troy winces sympathetically and rubs at his husband's shoulder. It's Sharpay's still questionable, though substantially mellowed out from their high school days, behavior that makes him almost thankful he's an only child.

"What is it with Starbucks employees and not knowing how to spell my name?" Sharpay's voice signals her approach seconds before her signature blonde hair comes into view. "S-H-A-R-P-A-Y. It's not that difficult, and it's _everywhere_!"

"I wouldn't take it personally, Shar," Peyton's baritone consoles her. "Starbucks employees bungle everyone's names."

"My name isn't _Sharpie_."

Troy doesn't have to look to know that Peyton is trying his damnedest not to laugh, and he hopes for the tall man's sake that he keeps his laughter in, unless he wants to spend another night alone on the couch while his wife and daughter share the queen-size bed.

According to Ryan, the "Sharpie" thing is a particular sore spot for Sharpay. Former starlett, and Sharpay's former idol, Amber Lee Adams, consistently misnamed Sharpay during her "brief, misguided, and utterly degrading" tenure as the red head's personal assistant. "Sharpie" was one of the misnomers that stood out, and Sharpay supposedly relives scrubbing Amber Lee's toilet every time someone innocuously flubs up and misinterprets her name as the brand-name of the popular permanent ink marker.

Luckily, Peyton is able to school his features into a solemn expression, and he runs a soothing hand over his wife's arm. "Of course it's not." When they reach the table, he slides the cardboard sleeves off both his own cup and Sharpay's, and quickly exchanges the sleeve bearing the distressing word with a sleeve that reads "Payton", in a barista's jerky handwriting.

Sharpay shoots him a soft smile, clearly won over by the gesture.

Ryan rolls his eyes affectionately, and Troy shakes his head, smiling as he takes another sip from his and Ryan's shared bottle of water.

/

A stop at Yankee Candle- Ryan wanted to buy some "aromatic" candles to help clear his mind while he does yoga. Troy just likes to smell all of the various holiday and food-themed scents. Christmas Cookie is his favorite- and Bath and Body works- Sharpay and Ryan both loaded up on body washes, hand soaps, and lotions. Troy and Peyton could only shake their heads and smile indulgently at their spouses'… uniqueness- later, Troy feels a tug at his sleeve.

He looks down to find Freya rubbing at her eyes and dragging her feet. "Daddy, I'm tired."

Ryan, pulled out of his conversation with Sharpay at the sound of their daughter's voice, makes a move toward Freya, insisting, "Troy, it's fine. I've-"

"It's okay," Troy assures him. He stoops down, letting go of the bags he's loaded up with, and easily scoops the girl onto his back. "Hold on tight, 'kay?"

"Okay." Freya loops her arms around Troy's neck and wraps her legs around his chest.

Retrieving the bags, Troy moves to right himself, and a dull pain jolts up his leg.

"Are you okay, daddy?" Freya asks.

Ryan rushes to Troy's side, stabilizing him, his brows knitting and forehead creasing with concern under the brim of his hat.

Josh slows his already plodding stroll to a stand-still to watch on with wide eyes. "Dad, maybe you shouldn't-" he starts.

Peyton takes a step toward them, offering, "Troy, I can-" even as he struggles under the weight of Sharpay's innumerable bags and parcels.

Still not quite used to so much- or any, really- assistance being offered to him, Troy reassures all of them, "It's fine. I'm okay." . His knee begs to differ, screaming softly, but he wagers if he can just make it to the car…

Sharpay, Lana, and even Alexandra the personal assistant have decided to join the ever-growing sea of spectators, their expressions ranging from embarrassment, to confusion, to detached apathy.

Lana appears to view Freya piggybacking on Troy as an enviable position. She tugs at the hem of Peyton's jacket, demanding, "Daddy, I want to be carried, too!"

Sharpay stares back and forth between her sibling and her husband, sharing in Peyton's chagrin as Lana scrambles onto his back and he fumbles with the bags in his effort to secure her.

"Ow. Lana, honey. Be careful. Daddy's back is-" A tiny foot to the spine cuts Peyton off, causing him to pull a pained face. He'll be feeling that tomorrow.

"Well, I believe we're done, for the day," Ryan says with an authoritative clap of his hands, effortlessly assuming command of the situation.

The sea of onlookers recedes, other mall-goers taking the sharp sound of the handclap as a cue to resume minding their own damn business.

Troy thanks higher powers that he doesn't even believe in that he has Ryan's wonderful level head on his side.

Ryan takes half of Troy's load with one hand, and rounds up Josh with the other. He gestures toward the doors, herding everyone in their direction. "Let's vamoose."

/

It's dark by the time they exit the mall.

The ride home is blessedly quiet after the noise and chaos of the shopping excursion. That quiet makes it a lot easier for Troy to concentrate all of his effort into driving and getting his family home safe. Even though the muted screaming in his kneecap has intensified to tortured shrieks.

He checks the dashboard mirror to see Josh and Freya nodding off in the backseat, and murmurs, "I may have overdid it, a bit."

Ryan shakes his head, a sad little smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to prove to me how strong and capable you are, you know," he says softly. "I already know."

A lump constricts Troy's throat, brought on by the pain, or exhaustion, or perhaps by his all-encompassing love for the person in the passenger seat beside him. "I know. I'm sorry." Even after all these years, the unneeded apology rolls automatically off his tongue.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Troy wracks his brain for an answer, but words fail him as Ryan's oh-so-talented hand rubs at his thigh, fingers and thumb kneading the tissue surrounding the aching mass of fractured bone. Ryan has pulled the chest strap of his seat belt aside to get access to Troy's leg, and… Ohhh. Troy inhales through his nose, forcing back a pleased grunt as his body responds to the gentle, intimate touches. Touches dangerously close to his most sensitive muscle. "Ry, I'm…" _Driving_ is how he meant to finish that thought, but a soft "Fuck," escapes him, instead.

Ryan reaches over to rub just below the patella, and the tortured shrieks subside enough for Troy to brake at a red light without grimacing.

"Thank you," Troy breathes. The arousal coiling in his abdomen stars to unfurl, but his breath and heart rates are still accelerated. His foot pushes the gas when the light turns green. His mind, however, is both berating him for reacting like the sexually repressed teenage boy he once was, and flicking eagerly through a slideshow of scenarios that could play out once he and Ryan are home, the kids have been tucked into bed, and the gifts have been stored away until Christmas Eve.

"Just… please be more careful, okay?" Ryan's voice adopts the lovely lilting intonation that soothes even Troy's most crushing anxieties, and silences even the worst of his self-disparaging thoughts, as he sits back up and re-adjusts his seatbelt across his chest. "The kids and I need you to be around for a long, long, _long_ time."

"Okay," Troy promises. His hand finds Ryan's and squeezes it, his fingers slipping into the spaces between Ryan's pale digits. "I will." He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to lift the entwined appendages and press a kiss to Ryan's knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Their matching silver wedding bands reflect the colors of the various streetlights lining the highway, and Troy barely flinches as the vehicle hits a rough patch of road.

/

Sharpay, Peyton, and Lana stick around for cookies at Sharpay's insistence. Ryan invited Alexandra in, but her services were no longer required and she claimed she had "places to be", so she drove off without another word.

A newly awake and energized Freya is once more gabbing away with Lana, while Josh resumes his game of Pokemon, and Sharpay eyes Peyton's sore back like it's a foreign landscape.

"I'll schedule you an appointment with a masseuse."

"I've told you before, I don't like the idea of another woman touching me, like that."

"Then I'll request a man." There's a beat where Peyton must have given her a _look_ , because she adds, "Oh, it's just a _massage_ , Peyton. I won't be asking them to give you a 'Happy Ending'."

The sounds of the good-natured argument between the Evans-Leveretts fade as Ryan steers Troy into their tiny bathroom. He closes the door behind them, locking it, just to be safe, draws a bath, and helps Troy out of his clothes.

"Just look at you," Ryan almost purrs as his eyes roam over every bit of Troy's tanned flesh. His voice, alone, sends a shock of heat directly below Troy's waistline. His expression is enough to turn that shock into the beginnings of an ache.

Troy shivers, but he can't tell if it's from the chilled air hitting his newly exposed skin, or Ryan's finger trailing down his breastbone to trace the contours of his abs.

"I'm the luckiest person in the universe." Ryan finishes outlining the sixth delineation of muscle sculpting Troy's stomach, then lifts his hand to run it through Troy's hair, stroking and caressing his scalp. He tangles his fingers in tresses of silky golden brown hair, and presses a kiss to Troy's jaw.

Heat fills Troy's body, heightening his sense of touch. Every nerve-ending tingles and pulses with _need_. He wants to tug Ryan closer, kiss him properly, feel him against every inch of his body, but his trembling leg honestly can't support his own weight, anymore.

Seeming to sense this, as he always does, Ryan slides his hand down, bringing it to a rest between Troy's shoulder blades, and guides him to the bathtub. He helps him ease his way into it, supporting Troy's one hundred fifty-three pounds of muscle like it's nothing.

Troy thinks to himself that, if anyone is the unspoken bastion of strength in the household, it's Ryan.

The water is _exactly_ the right temperature, and Troy's knee sings, his muscles melting slack against the cool ceramic. "God. If anyone's the luckiest bastard in the universe, it's me."

Ryan's eyes teem with love as a smile spreads across his face. "How you flatter me." He kneels at the side of the tub and runs his hand through Troy's hair, again; the pads of his fingers stroking over the specific spot that reduces Troy to putty in his hands. Troy leans back into the touch, his eyes falling closed in utter contentment as Ryan's hands work their magic. He'll never get used to how _amazing_ it feels… being loved _this much_.

Troy is entering a blissed-out state when he hears and feels Ryan getting to his feet. His eyes flutter open, a faint pang firing off in his chest.

"I suppose someone needs to entertain our guests," Ryan announces unnecessarily.

It's only because his dismay is so obvious, and because he looks like he could use a nice soak in a hot bath, too, that Troy says, "Get in here."

Ryan's hand is on his belt buckle without a moment's deliberation, unfastening it and removing the strip of leather from his belt loops with practiced ease. He smiles as he sheds each layer of clothing, taking the time to fold them neatly and set his discarded hat on top of the pile. "Is it bad that I was really hoping you'd say that?"

"Not at all." Troy smiles back. His heart swells as Ryan finally lowers himself into the tub, settling down carefully between Troy's spread out legs.

Ryan sinks back against Troy, submerging himself up to his chest as his body adjusts to the temperature. A contented sigh rises out of his throat.

Troy nuzzles into his soft golden hair. "I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world," he murmurs, kissing the back of Ryan's neck, and breathing in the smell of his shampoo. It's still strawberry-scented, just like it was in college. The first time Troy let himself get consciously close enough for the scent of Ryan's hair to fill his nose.

Ryan has tried changing things up, a few times, over the years- apple, kiwi and lime, coconut… He's even used Troy's shampoo on a couple of occasions.

But, he's always returned to the strawberry, as if it's his default. As if that scent is as much a core tenet of his identity as his endless hats, curvy hips, blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and extensive knowledge of movie musicals.

As if he knows, without either of them ever saying, how much Troy loves it.

"Really?" Ryan asks softly. He rubs Troy's knee tenderly and almost timidly. The action alludes to the query he can't bring himself to voice.

"Nothing is more important to me than you and the kids. Than our family. Than getting to just _be_ with you, everyday." Troy splays a hand over Ryan's stomach, and he can tell that Ryan still has to fight not to flinch away. Much like Sharpay's "Sharpie thing", Ryan's body is his hang-up, his one thing that he has never been comfortable with, even hated; a notion that still unsettles Troy to his core when he lets himself think back on it.

But, Troy loves every inch of it. Even the parts that Ryan can't acknowledge without seeing something in desperate need of change and improvement.

"You've never judged me for my leg, never treated my injury like an inconvenience. You… and Josh, and Freya, love me the way I am." Troy nuzzles from the first vertebrae on Ryan's spinal column to his shoulder, kissing the smooth white skin that covers the lean muscle.

Ryan drags his second finger over Troy's kneecap, his touch so light, the dry hairs on Troy's body pimple with an outbreak of goosebumps, and more heat, comfortable, gratified heat, rushes through Troy. "Of course we do. Your bad knee doesn't make you any less of a man." For emphasis, Ryan arches back, intentionally pressing against a particular piece of Troy's anatomy.

Troy has to swallow a moan. The last thing Sharpay and Peyton need is a reason to believe that they ditched them for a quick fuck. He doesn't want to imagine how that conversation would play out in his worst nightmares. "E-Easy there, stud. We do have guests in the other room."

Ryan looks reasonably chastised, but the twitching of his mouth betrays his amusement. "You know what I mean." He carefully, so carefully, maneuvers his body so he's face to face and chest to chest with Troy, and peers into his husband's eyes as he goes on, "You're no less Troy Bolton than you were when we were in high school and you were climbing on chairs, and up trees, and astonishing everyone with your willingness to throw your entire body into a last-ditch pass to a gangly sophomore that could have cost you the most crucial game of your basketball career at East High had the kid been a few inches off with his shot. You're _still_ incredible. You _still_ take my breath away."

Overcome by the sincerity pouring out of Ryan's loving gaze and every word that has left his mouth, Troy tells him, breathless, "And, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Neither would I." Eyes shining, Ryan kisses him, and it's as soft and tender as his ministrations on Troy's knee. As Ryan breaks off, his eyelashes flutter, casting soft shadows on his smooth cheeks, and Troy has to remind himself to breathe. "This, erm, this water is starting to get cold. How about we go check in on the in-laws before my sister assumes we've vanished for a quick fuck in the bathroom?"

Troy kind of wants to persuade Ryan to stay just a few minutes longer- pull out the "puppy-dog eyes" if he has to, just so he can treat Ryan to an upper back massage, caress his hips and stomach and remind him that he and the kids need him to stick around, too, so it wouldn't hurt to put food into his body when he needs it. But, Ryan is already out of the tub and toweling himself off.

So Troy lets his knee soak for a few seconds longer.

Just beyond the bathroom walls, he can make out the sounds of Freya and Lana's high voices engrossed in deep conversation- Lana even gets some input from Josh- while Peyton and Sharpay discuss some Christmas-themed event that Sharpay has to attend on the twenty-third.

They're his family, faults, and eccentricities, and "quirks" and all, and as Ryan's fingers glide down the front of his shirt, deftly sliding each button into its proper hole, he shoots Troy a half-flirtatious, half-completely smitten smile.

Troy tells himself, again, how lucky he really is.

.

.

* * *

 **A/N:** I wanted to write something cute and Christmassy involving the Evans-Bolton and Evans-Leverett families. Somehow, I got the idea to write about them going Christmas shopping, and that just devolved into this absolute fluff fest.

I'm _so_ sorry.

I hope at least one person out there will find something to enjoy in this story.

Josh, Freya, and Lana are the collaborative creations of a dear friend and me. Lana is Sharpay and Peyton's biological daughter, of course. Josh and Freya are adopted.

Happy Holidays to each and every one of you, regardless of what you do or do not celebrate. May your days be merry, bright, and safe, and I hope at least a few of you will stick around to read my next work.


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